


Love letters.

by marcoftmario



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-09 18:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8907532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcoftmario/pseuds/marcoftmario
Summary: Someone writes Marco a love letter.Someone signs that letter with "M".Marco thinks it's Mats.Turns out it's not.





	1. Mats, it's not funny.

**Author's Note:**

> Helloo! I'm back, after all this time. I've been with a lot of ideas lately but this is the only one I could finish ("""finish""" this is only the first chapter), I don't know what you'll think.  
> If you liked, or if you didn't like it, leave a comment to express it!  
> (as always, english isn't my first language and I'm always learning it so if there's any mistake besides from the typos please let me know)  
> (there's gonna be a lot of typos, I didn't correct this)  
> Enjoy!  
> PS: MARIO COMING BAAAAAACK I didn't write something about it, it's weird.  
> PS2: MATS BETRAYING DORTMUND!!! I was so angry xD. but then I guess it's just how football works

“Dear Marco:

I’m writing you this brief note because i’ve been thinking a lot about how beautiful you are, and I can’t find the courage to tell you personally. I really like you.

M.”

“Oh, please, come on” he was holding the ‘letter’ on his hands, making efforts not to start laughing from  the nerves he had (or from the real laughter that the joke caused him). All right, Mats’… joke had been really close to work; he had been very close to believe it, for one second, but his only mistake was putting the initial “M” on it. He was blaming himself that way, instead of misleading him. “MATS!”

“What’s wrong, love?” he quickly heard the voice from someone who interrupted the other conversation he was having, to answer him.

“I’ve got a little question: will you ever stop being stupid?” he felt the looks of some persons on him (Marco thought they were some students a couple of courses younger than him. He didn’t really recognize them in the corridor, so it didn’t matter). Yes, he knew perfectly he was screaming, but he didn’t care at all. “This sort of jokes stopped being funny long ago, didn’t you hear?”

“What are you talking about? What joke? In my concern, I didn’t do anything to you these day…” while he spoke his eyes went through the whole place, paranoid, looking for hints of some bad joke someone could’ve played him, principally so he could start laughing and stop being blamed. The only thing he saw, after searching, was a sheet carefully folded the blond was holding, and he proceeded to take it off his hands and read it quickly. That’s why he stopped in the middle of the sentence. “Ohhh, yeees! Someone wrote you a love letteeeer Marco! You’ve got a fan!”

“Stop pretending you don’t know who it is. What a funny joke, eh. You clearly put “M” as a signature, stupid” but Mats wasn’t listening anymore; he had found, for the moment, something that was more important than a joke played to his best friend (like, by example, a girl). Marco also had a chance to forget about the letter, to bury it on the bottom of his backpack, and only talk about it again when the person who’d had the intention to send it (whether it’s Mats to play a prank o someone else who really felt it) had forgotten about it: class started and he had to enter the room.

It wasn’t like he was very interested in class, on the contrary. But it was a distraction, at least something that let him the perfect space to fantasize with football training, with him making goals and that beautiful girl, Caroline, going to see them and seeing that, seeing him play really good.

Because Caroline, oh, Caroline, he practically worshiped her. He might have crossed ten words with her in all his life, but he knew enough. She liked football, and understood everything about that beautiful sport; he knew it because he used to see her going to the matches, and he heard the comments she made to her friends. She was the perfect girl. And she was always feminine, and beautiful, even at 7 am when it was obvious that she had just awakened and had a soft smile, but not too much.

She was perfect to Marco. But, on the other hand, he was never very brave with girls: he didn’t consider himself ugly, but the cowardice flooded him when he stood close to someone he liked. The words could never go out of his mouth; they just slid on his tongue and could _never_ come out. He started saying idiocies, lying. He couldn’t control it.

His train of thoughts was interrupted by Mats looking at him with a suspicious grin from the seat next to him and passing him a paper with something written on it.

_“Gimme time ‘till lunch to find out who it is ;)”_

And Marco believed him, because Mats was capable to do that. But he didn’t pay attention; he kept drawing perfect goals and speaking with Kevin, following him on his crazy conversation wherever it went.

And by the time lunch came, Mats appeared with a neutral and serene expression, with the love letter on his hand, hidden so it couldn’t be seen there. “I’m sorry, I haven’t found it yet. Give me one more day.”

He was telling him that as if it was something he was forced to do, as if it was a mission Marco gave him. He loved that on his best friend: he had the capacity of taking things really seriously and at the same time joking nonstop about it.

“Oh don’t worry, no problem. You’ll find it anyways.”

“Exactly” and he smiled at him, as if he cared so much.

He finished eating the sad plate of food the school gave him before training, as he did almost every day. He had lunch with the same people as always, there was nothing different to other days, and Mats was there with them, completely normal. And that’s what he didn’t understand about it.

They were running the second lap over the field, warming up while they were waiting for the trainer to show up around there, when Mats got next to him and spoke with that voice that could remain calm while they were running. “I know who it is.”

Marco couldn’t believe it. “What? How the fuck did you do it?”

His eyes went unconsciously to the stands, while surely some moments later he would see Caroline watching the moment when they played, and he waited for her to be there and approach him and speak to him and tell him that she was the one who wrote the letter, who signed “M” because she got scared and didn’t know what to put.

It’s a disappointment when the only ones who are on the stands are some guys from first course looking at them.

“Yeah, it was a bit hard” and he came back to reality. “And it took me a bit of time. But there were some unexpected complications. By the time lunch came I was almost sure, just needed to confirm it. Guess who it is.”

“It’s you.”

“Oh, please. I don’t write such ridiculous letters; at least I have some sense of shame.”

He laughed, though immediately he felt pity and a bit ashamed, because he found the letter very cute, it didn’t matter how pathetic or ridiculous it was, or whatever.

“Who is it? Please” he was tempted to make some scandal to make him say it, but something about his attitude told him that it wasn’t too convenient. He needed to be quick because he couldn’t wait any longer.

“It’s gonna surprise you, beca…”

“Is it Caroline?” the blond interrupted him, and stopped running, looking at him with excited eyes. He hadn’t understood really well the reason why Mats took so long, and Mats took advantage of that and started laughing at him.

“Oh please! Where do you see a M on Caroline? Besides, don’t interrupt me” and he started running, lowering the voice while he spoke. “I was just going to say that it’s gonna surprise you because it’s a guy.”

Well. This was unexpected, pretty unexpected. “What?” was everything he could say. He didn’t believe him at all.

“I swear. He told me himself, some minutes ago. But it was quite hard to get him to tell me, and he made me promise I wasn’t gonna say it to you. Oops.”

“Oh” Marco was in some kind of shock in which everything seemed exaggerated, and he was having a reaction he never thought he would have. He was thinking “ _poor boy. Probably his biggest, darkest secret was just revealed to the only person who didn’t have to find out_ ”. But he wasn’t going to say anything. He just needed the name, the identity.

“Tell me who it is.”

“He’s here, watching the training. He’s from first course. Do you want to know who it is?”

There were about five of six persons on the stands looking and none of them seemed gay or something like that. It was weird for Marco. “Eh, yes? Please”.

“Okay. You see them; you see that they’re all thin and athletic? Well, he’s the one with the chubby face, with the… inflated cheeks” (don’t call him like that!). “His name is Mario.”

Wow. He had no idea who he was; he didn’t know anything related to him. He only knew that he didn’t like having classified him as the ‘chubby face’ one, and he felt pity for him. Besides, it had nothing to do with reality. Compared with the rest, maybe, yes, but he was pretty thin and it was evident that he had a good body (it wasn’t like Marco was looking at that because he liked it, he was just analysing it). Mats kept talking. “He told me that he could never make a move on you because he understood perfectly your preferences” **aw** “but he begged me on his knees so I could speak well about him to you, because in that case you might want to be his friend or something. I guess that’s the reason why he admitted it was him. It’s something so typical of someone from first course, so typical from someone who’s gay.”

“Shut up” was the first thing that came to his mind: to defend him. It was like he saw him sitting on the grades and he imagined the exact moment when he wrote it, letting his secret slide on the paper, feeling and looking vulnerable, weak, and it felt so bad for him that he felt on duty to defend him. “You know what, idiot? I think I’ll do it.”

“Do what? Being his boyfriend?”

“No. I’ll offer him my friendship.”

Mats only gave him a funny smile and shook his head before start running again, as if he didn’t believe him (or as if he believed him but didn’t think that he was actually going to do it).

Training turned out weird: he wasn’t capable to enjoy it to one hundred percent, like he always did. He didn’t play especially bad, but he didn’t play well either. And he thought he knew the reason.

Caroline had arrived already, and she was located worryingly closer to the… other group. In fact they were always there before, but it was different because Marco could ignore them. Now he couldn’t even look on that direction without having his view deviated towards Mario, and Mario was also looking always at him. He couldn’t stop thinking about how shocking it’d been to find out that it was him, that someone like him could be gay, that he wanted some kind of romantic interaction with him and, if it wasn’t possible, he wanted to be his friend. The fact that he’d asked Mats to be his friend. All that stuff was confusing.

Because Marco couldn’t change his personality: he was like that. He didn’t want (he couldn’t, actually) to be indifferent towards him, to the desperate request someone was doing. He needed, at least, to give him the chance, and make sure that Mario wouldn’t be a good friend. And he didn’t care if Mario was in love with him: he could ignore it, he could make an effort on putting some distance between them as they knew each other, and he could say very clearly that he didn’t want something romantic between them. He’d done it before, with girls.

He only wanted something romantic with one person, to be honest; with one girl. With Caroline. And he didn’t even know her. And, besides, it was getting complicated to look where she was without thinking that it might look like he was looking at Mario, and he was scared that Mario would think that the gaze of the –dyed– blond was directed towards him. Unconsciously, he was also scared of ending up looking at him without realizing it, even if there was nothing on his face that would catch his attention, from the start. Because, since he recognized him now, he couldn’t ignore him anymore.

And considering that he was completely sure he couldn’t ignore Mario anymore, he made a decision: after training, he would walk with total confidence on himself and say her hi. And if he was close, it would be better; he would talk to him too.

\--

Training ended and he was still being a coward (oh, how weird). He let himself be taken by his teammates’ arms and conversations that led him to the dressing room, which was exactly at the other side of the field, and he ignored the people that he had no intention to ignore.

He took a deep breath and didn’t have to make an effort to stop thinking about them, because his friends demanded his attention in a way that was too funny to not answer every joke.

“Marco! Answer me one thing, please.”

That was, no doubt, Kevin. He knew it without having to see him. His face was smiley and shiny as always, and the fact that he was asking him imperiously to answer scared him, to be honest, because _it was Kevin._ Kevin’s questions couldn’t be taken lightly. “Ask.”

“Marcinho, is it true that someone sent you a love letter?”

His voice was curious, delighted with the situation. Marco didn’t know what to do: he thought he had articulated a smile, even though he wasn’t paying attention to it. However –and surprisingly to him– he wasn’t nervous, because as long as he didn’t say or do anything to make them notice that he knew who’d written the letter, nothing could go wrong. His body didn’t have to betray him, and that’s it.

“Yep; someone wrote it and I saw it today. It was on my folder.”

“Ohh” André exclaimed, clearly surprised at the news. “Really? Who sent it?”

And he’d already called the attention of the whole team, that had interrupted their conversations to listen to his answers, and the ones that were further were now asking what’d happened that Marco got all the attention so suddenly. The blond was only looking at Mats now, who didn’t say anything to him but smiled anyways, keeping the appearances and speaking loudly as always. When he realized that he wasn’t going to betray anyone, he allowed himself a little relaxation, until they got out of the precarious dressing room and stopped at the entry of the school, ready to go but not wanting to stop talking.

“I don’t know who it is. She signed as “M” but I don’t know, the signature can be a lie. The letter can be a lie. I don’t know.”

“Oh” exclaimed, a bit disappointed, the blond Marcel, who’d jumped to the same conclusion than Marco when he found out about the signature. “Wasn’t it Mats?”

“Or was it M-arcel?” somebody else asked, probably someone very tall and with a very dark hair, and suddenly they all exploded into laughter and conversations at the same time.

Mats and Auba offered to take him home, but Auba asked him first so he won (he had a better car), and (since he didn’t have a car, and the parents didn’t borrow him their car because he didn’t even know how to drive, don’t even mention having a license) Auba drove him to his house.

As soon as he arrived, he collapsed on his comfortable and beloved bed, and fell asleep to take a nap that lasted a little bit more than he’d expected, because he had a terrible headache and he didn’t feel it when he was sleeping; and it ended up being a 4 hour-nap. He woke up at 8, when the sun was still in process of hiding behind the horizon. He hadn’t realized how tired he was.

As soon as he woke up he could realize that he might be having a little too much energy, even if he felt something very alike pain on the stomach, a bit unusual for him but nothing very painful to worry about, and he got frustrated about it. He made something –maybe coffee will be fine, yes, why not– to drink, and tried to start doing some homework.

 

He must had been less than five minutes trying –he wasn’t counting– before the stress of never having understood anything in all the year was too much for him. He considered the option of going for a run, but it was a football training day and he used to alternate the days he trained at school and the days that he went for a run (an hour or two), because otherwise he’d end up too tired. Besides, it was late, and he didn’t like the idea a lot.

He thought, then, that he would call a friend to invite him to come around or do something, but almost all of them lived quite far from his house and it was already pretty late to arrange something –specially knowing that they had school the next day (Friday).

After thinking for some time, he decided to make himself some time for the family and he went to the living room where his mother and sister watched television.

He didn’t think about his friends (or girls, or gays) until the other day.

\--

He only felt that he was starting to wake up when the teacher let them go; when the bell ringed. The rest of history class had gone in some kind of unintelligible nebula of him ignoring the group work the teacher had assigned them, while the rest of his classmates and friends threw things –like papers or planes made with paper– at each other and ignored the poor teacher that was just trying to give them work to do.

The guys asked only a few times if he was feeling okay, and the second time the bad mood and the desire to sleep were the things that answered for him, they decided to leave him alone with some laughs and jokes. He spent all the time with his head laying on the coat he’d placed on the table, with his eyes closed and about to fall asleep.

He didn’t even know why he was so sleepy: he’d gone to sleep late at night –as he used to do, clearly– but not too late, and he’d wakened at the same time as always, thing that didn’t tire him at all. He hadn’t even had gone for a run. His body was sad.

His head was also hurting. A lot. And yet, on the morning break he got the tiredness off his body and went to do what he most liked: play football.

He had a bit of a hard time ignoring Mario –because on the breaks nobody needed to be invited to go and play with them, even less if you were Mario, although his friends weren’t exactly the best friends of the football lovers–, because he was suddenly playing on the same team as him.

He got surprised at how well the younger could pretend that he didn’t know him, and he even dared to think that Mats had made him a joke and he actually wasn’t, because the shorter didn’t even look at him for a second.

He had to go earlier from the match, leaving his team lose on his absence, except for the goals Mario managed to do (Mario, by the way, was one of the bests on his course), because his headache had increased a lot, and the pain that hadn’t been much the day before, on his stomach, was almost unbearable. He didn’t want to throw up yet, but he could already see it coming.

 

“What if I go earlier? I don’t think I can go to training today. I don’t feel well at all.”

“Umm… no. Don’t miss training. At least sit on one side of the field and start vomiting your organs, but stay and watch us.”

“Kevin! That’s disgusting. I’m eating; I didn’t want to imagine that.”

Kevin made a gesture of contempt towards Auba’s words, but he started to speak a little lower. “It’s important for us that you go. And it’s me telling you that, I, the one who’s always struggling between going or not. And it’s not only for you; it’s for the boys, too. They need motivation.”

Marco considered it. “But, what if I feel worse?”

“Then you leave after and go to a doctor. Don’t exaggerate.”

Marco sighed, resigning in front of the circumstances that, apparently, were definitive. The reality was that Marco was expecting some friend to say that, because he wanted to stay, even if he didn’t feel really well. Did he want to talk to Mario? He would find out about it.

Because he _did_ want to talk to Mario. But he didn’t know if he wanted to go and risk being more than only known persons with someone who was in love with him.

When they finished eating, they usually waited on the pitch where they trained until training started. Sometimes they would start running before, to avoid warming up, but what always happened was that some people were late and they had to warm up when the others started the training and they just couldn’t.

While they went to the dressing rooms and Marco waited for them, laying on a weirdly comfortable way on a step and looking at his phone (since he’d decided that it wasn’t worth to get changed because he wasn’t going to train), he heard voices coming closer. He immediately got up and sat on the seat as quickly as he could, which made his whole body hurt, especially the head. He saw who was coming.

He could be dizzy for having sat up so sharply on that delicate state, but those cheeks were Mario’s, no place to doubt.

Mario.

He was talking to some friend, with a wide grin, and he wasn’t looking at him, not even realizing of his presence because he was too busy looking at his friend’s eyes, excited and talking really fast and damn, that was freaking cute. He started showing signs of having seen him as they approached him, when the smile faded out for a couple of seconds, too evident, too sincere, too unavoidable to hope for him to keep cool, and then he tried to make it appear on his face again, never as bright as it was before.

His friend chose the place they would sit in, because he sat before Mario, and luckily he chose a spot more and less a yard away from the blond.

The friend –whose name he couldn’t remember, he only knew he was classmate of Mario– gave him a weak smile, saluting him with a gesture by courtesy, and Marco saw his moment right there: he couldn’t get a better chance.

“Hey, guys” he said, putting his phone away and smiling at them, trying to make it as natural as he could. Both friends were smiling at him, but as the unknown guy quickly answered a “hi” and went back to his stuff, Mario stayed like focused on him, with his eyes completely glued to his face, as if he couldn’t look away. His face had suddenly adopted a serious look, as if he realized what he’d been doing, and he muttered a “hello” extremely shy, and Marco felt pity. **God, he was so obvious.** Shaken by a sudden load of energy, or curiosity, he got closer to them. “What’s up?”

“Nothing” the friend said, and he was going to say something else but when he saw his eyes completely focused on Mario he decided (wisely, it was obvious that the friend was the observant one) to shut up. Marco assumed that the shortest had told him about his crush on him, or maybe he already suspected that something was going on. He said some words (to the blond, it sounded like “Mario, I think he’s talking to you”) and he raised his head, that was heading directly to the floor, in shame. **God, he was so obvious.** Maybe it wasn’t obvious that he had a crush on him, it was obvious that for some reason he was ignoring, avoiding him. He tried to soften his expression, but it turned out to be hard because the sun was hitting straight to his eyes and that thing made him twist his face in weird ways, or make a weird frown.

“Oh, no, we’re up to nothing. We’re waiting for you to train so we can train after. It’s just that” oh, right. His group trained just after them. He’d forgotten about it. “What about you?”

“I… should be getting ready for training, but I can’t. I don’t feel well.”

“Why? What’s the matter?” the answer was almost immediate. He’d turned his head to face him and he was serious, with a shine on his eyes he’d never seen. **God, he couldn’t be more obvious.**

“Not much. I think I’m starting to get a cold or something, that’s everything that happens. But my whole body aches, I can barely run. And my head’s killing me.”

“Oh… okay. I would offer you some medicine or something, but I haven’t got any.”

“It’s good, thank you anyway.” Marco smiled through the awkward silence. Despite the pain, he was on a positive mood, and Marco in a good mood could be an entertaining person. “Well. Do you always come to see the training?”

“Well, it’s not like there’s something better to do here” said Mario as if he was resigned. He corrected himself immediately. “It’s not like watching you isn’t good, obviously. It’s just that… yeah. There’s nothing else to do.”

Marco laughed. “Yes, I understand what you mean. Do you guys live very far from here?”

Mario’s friend was on his phone now, and didn’t listen to them at all, so the blond was focusing his attention on the shortest (the other one looked like he was younger, even if he surely wasn’t, but he was tall, so his body gave him the certain that he wasn’t so young, and he made Mario look shorter surrounded by them both), but he spoke in plural anyways so Mario wouldn’t suspect much. He was actually only speaking to him.

“More or less. If you walk, yes, it is pretty far.”

“That’s too bad. If it weren’t like that you could go and then come back for training; it’d certainly be easier.”

Mario saw himself evidently surprised at the chat and the subject of conversation the blond was bringing up, because he didn’t expect it at all. But if there was something he _definitely_ wasn’t expecting was André Schurrle, and the careless way in which he was climbing on the younger’s shoulders after taking some impulse. He was already on his training clothes, and Mario was just as surprised as Marco (well, maybe not that much, because Marco didn’t even know that they were friends so he wasn’t expecting it at all).

That’s where Marco realized how relaxed they were before the interruption: Mario was standing, on his foot (he was so anxious he’d done that at some point of the conversation), and his knees failed him completely. Marco jumped on his seat, unwittingly, and he would’ve fallen on his back if it wasn’t because he smashed his head onto one of the boards of the steps. “Oh, dwarf, you’re so weak!” screamed André, who was going to die from laughter at any moment. He was next to Mario, on the floor, and the latter quickly hurried to step up.

Marco decided to keep quiet, looking at the situation, while his face sketched a smile even if he was slightly bothered for being interrupted on the middle of the conversation. The younger didn’t seem hurt anyways, André was getting up also and the rest of the boys were just arriving to where they were.

The context changed in one second; the somehow awkward silence that’d appeared until that moment was replaced by loud conversations, laughs and voices that made 10 jokes per second, and that was what Marco was used to, that’s what he enjoyed every day. And it was evident that it was Mario was used to, too, because if at the beginning he seemed a bit uncomfortable surrounded by people he’d never spoken to, he started to participate pretty soon.

Bah, and it wasn’t like he had a lot of time to socialize. Before five minutes had happened their coach was on the field starting to run with them, and they were alone again (the friend, whose name was apparently Julian, had gone some minutes ago; he was probably going to meet some girl, because Mario made jokes, half mocks, on his ear before he left).

That was his moment. If he was waiting for some better chance to satiate his curiosity, well, he wouldn’t get one. As if it was something natural, something he always did, he moved closer to him to be sitting right next to him.

“So, well, Mario… I didn’t know you were Andre’s friend.”

Mario, who was starting to get tense again –it was noticeable that he got overwhelmed by having so much Marco so suddenly– attempted a sincere, honest smile while he looked at the other one. Marco made real efforts not to start laughing to the gesture he ended up doing. “Yeah. You could say we’re childhood friends.”

“Oh, wow, then it’s really weird that he hasn’t spoken about you, or that I didn’t see you together, like, ever” Mario shrugged, adopting again that resigned attitude that the blond found really weird.

“Or maybe you just didn’t pay attention when he mentioned me, some day.”

After feeling a little bit offended, Marco thought about the comment. Maybe he was right. Maybe his brain immediately thought that he couldn’t be someone important, or maybe, simply, his almost-attention deficit was starting to show off; it could be true. And he reasoned to be honest. “That’s right. Maybe.”

The other just looked at him, astonished, completely misunderstanding his answer (or that’s what it seemed), and he laughed, the kind of laugh Marco thought he would only hear on movies. It was a false laugh, short, like when the main character’s disappointed because someone cheated on them and now wants to go back to them. It was as if Mario had been idealizing him for a long time and suddenly realized he was an idiot; that’s how exaggerated he looked.

“You’re being arrogant” he said, on a low voice, and it shocked Marco. It made him ask himself if the other wasn’t right.

“No, but… it’s true. Maybe he spoke to me about you and I thought you weren’t from this school, or I just forgot about it, or I wasn’t listening to him.”

Mario didn’t seem to change his mind, but he shrugged again. The blond felt like he was starting to take a peek at the firsts features of the younger’s personality, and he saw that he would be difficult to treat even with the person he liked.

“Maybe.”

Marco sighed, and there was silence by another second. But it was less awkward this time. The offended attitude he had seemed to hesitate and that made Marco laugh. “This is the first time we talk and you’re already offended? God, I can’t imagine what the future will be like.”

And then, they both laughed.

\--

Marco learned some things from Mario that day. He learned that his biggest passion was football, and that it wasn’t just (like it seemed it was) a way to pass the time. He learned that he was ashamed of his musical tastes, although he didn’t want to tell him how they were because he couldn’t (Marco had the temptation to keep investigating the issue, because it wasn’t normal that he denied to talk about his musical tastes, but he gave up when he saw that his attitude seemed, besides embarrassed, as if he was hiding something from him, something he evidently wasn’t going to say just like that to a stranger). He knew he had an older brother, to which he considered an example, and a younger one; he told Marco he cared him like he was everything, but he was worried that he wasn’t very interested on school because his mind was in other stuff. Just like him.

They spent the whole training talking, learning about each other, and it was like magic. Like something instantaneous on the context, or in them, or something about the destiny or life or whatever. They couldn’t stop talking, even when the pain on the stomach and specially the headache were so strong that he needed to stop paying attention to be able to breath normally. Mario offered like ten times to bring him something for the pain, to make him any favour so he could feel better, but Marco declined every offer. He didn’t feel that bad, at least not in general terms.

There were a couple of things that amused Marco during the whole conversation: Mario was nervous. Mario was shy. Mario, in a lot of occasions, didn’t know what to answer, so he doubted for a couple of seconds and when he finally started talking he mumbled a little and Marco smiled and the other one’s cheeks turned extremely red, as if they were about to explode.

(And Marco smiled even more.)

Far from getting him uncomfortable (because that would be the logical reaction, the one he’d expected from himself) all those things seemed really cute to him and made him want to know more about that person, and even to laugh a bit at their reactions. Like by example when Marco looked at him in the eye after making a question, stayed looking at him with that crooked smile so characteristic of him (his friends joked a lot about it) and he focused specially on him, having fun with his slight hesitation and only enjoying it a little every time the other one had to look away from his face because his natural, sudden concentration, deconcentrated him. Yeah, maybe there some mischievousness on that act, but to be honest he didn’t cause any damage and it was fun. And Mario would never realize that he was doing it on purpose.

But he was careful with certain things, clearly. He didn’t do anything that could be remotely considered like flirting, just in case Mario misunderstood any of the gestures. Because there were a lot of possibilities that Mario misunderstood anything.

He only realized the hour it was (more like the moment of the training they were in) when he heard voices coming closed. He found it weird that nobody had arrived to see the training, and even more strange that the girls appeared at that hour.

“The girls”. Only when they were a few yards away from them, he saw who was there.

They were three girls: one of them, the closest to him, was Montana (he knew it by the way André looked at her and spoke about her; he had to know her, of course); he thought she was Mario’s classmate, along with the other two. Ann-Kathrin. And Caroline.

They had so much make up on that Marco let his mind wander until he imagined that at any time it would fall off from their faces like a mask, to reflex their real face. Well, yeah. He was exaggerating a bit. It’s just that the girls with whom he surrounded (his classmates) didn’t use that much make up. It seemed weird to him, and he recalculated for a while.

Caroline was still beautiful, though, that was something he couldn’t deny. Marco was sure he hadn’t seen anything as beautiful as the union of her factions when she smiled. Beautiful and unreachable, that’s how he saw her.

That’s why he almost fainted when he saw her (saw _them)_ getting close to them, with the intention of say hi and chat for a bit. The familiarity with which he greeted Mario almost let Marco open-mouthed, because this was something new; he had never imagined it. But of course, they were together in class.

How was it that Mario knew so much people and Marco wasn’t even aware of his existence?

“Hello, dear” said Ann while planted a kiss on his cheek and proceeded to look at his companion, who was suddenly very nervous, and as a reflex action started to follow  with the fingers the thick lines of the tattoo on his left arm, drawing again and again his name and the face. “And, hey, hello… Marco, isn’t it?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, nice to meet you.”

The three smiled and said hi to him, and by the time Marco realized, Caroline was sitting next to him.

“Shouldn’t you be training?” she casually asked.

“Well, yes. But I don’t feel well. I’ve got nauseas and my head and stomach hurt.”

“Ohh” Ann said, and it sounded extremely false to Marco, though maybe she did it on purpose. “That’s a shame.”

“Caro always watches you train” interceded Montana, with such brazenness that Mario (who seemed completely erased from the conversation) laughed out loud.

Caroline rolled his eyes as only answer and Marco, like he’d done a while ago, saw another chance right there, an opportunity to delete his shyness and face the girl once and for all. He would be an idiot if he didn’t do it. He didn’t want to be slow (because surely that’s what his friends would say if he didn’t take this chance, because they’d seen him. And about the girls, anything his friends said worried him more than he cared to admit).

“Is that true?” he asked. How fortunate it was that she was sitting next to him, because that worked and helped him to speak in a low, confidential voice, without the rest finding out.

He couldn’t believe what he was starting to do. It was almost like an instinct, like something that came out of his mouth but at the same time was hard to say, as if the only purpose of all this was to show Mario his heterosexuality; because he couldn’t find another explanation.

Maybe he could. He was a teenager; he was an idiot, and that was all. Caro’s reaction left Marco speechless, not because there was something exceptional about it, but because he’d never seen an expression like that on her face. The smile was just starting to get formed, with the corner of the lips barely raised on a way of contained laugh (or so it seemed), and a look that… well, that was promising. “Maybe.”

Marco stayed there, like stagnant, without knowing what to say. He directed his look towards his friends, who were playing a match (that told him they were getting close to the end of the training: the coach always left the match for the end). Suddenly he felt the tickling of blond hair on his shoulder and the side of the neck. As a reflex act he turned the head a little too much to that side and he ended up only 1 or 2 inches away from her cheek. He was almost sure he’d blushed, even a little bit that seemed like a lot by the pale of his face, and Caroline smiled like tenderly.

Marco didn’t have time to think about how weird everything was being. He just met her, literally, and he was less than 2 inches away from kissing her. They hadn’t even exchanged ten words and she was already getting close to him that way, saying that stuff. “Don’t you want to go somewhere quieter?” she asked, making Marco’s look start on the eyes, dark, brown eyes, perfectly outlined and framed by the blond hair, dyed but believable, and slightly curly. And the eyes went to the nose, of good proportion, to the jaw that had good angles but was yet perfectly feminine, defined, and he took his time on the lips, trying to stop his teenager mind from wander but obviously, they were so well-painted of an intense colour that he almost couldn’t. And it was even worse when his eyes kept exploring, the soft neck, with a little mark that seemed pretty recent and, by the location, could only be made by someone else on purpose, with their mouth. And finally, the clavicles, that were so perfect and suggestive that he had to look away that time. Thank god that the weather in Germany, generally cold for that time of the year, had allowed the girls to be out only in a shirt.

And yes. He was only seventeen, and that’s how he thought.

Nobody seemed to realize his exchange of words except for Mario, or that’s what it seemed; he was sitting right next to Marco but he was facing the other side to speak with his two friends and by the way he was turning his back at him, on such a straight way, he could only think Mario was doing it on purpose, so he didn’t see him.

It didn’t matter.

“Come on” he said smiling, and before everyone’s attentive look, they both left, walking on a rather slow way.

\--

“So, you’ve got tattoos.”

“Yes, I do.” Marco realized rather late that the girl was probably making fun of his insecure hand hugging his left arm and drawing the letters again. He tried to ignore it by looking down.

“It says your name for any special reason?” Caroline’s eyes wandered on his figure, while her mouth let out a soft smile that Marco praised. He struggled to find the words to answer that question; it wasn’t easy for him to answer, but it was always discarded with the same excuse.

“No, eh… it’s a long story.”

“All right” she said, resigned. She shrugged, as if she didn’t really cared about all that, and Marco smiled at her and paid her infinite attention, waiting for her to speak. Instead, she took a cigarette from her pocket and turned it on with the lighter. “You wanna?”

Marco shook his head, and his teenage soul felt quite embarrassed. “I can’t, I’m an athlete.”

“A bit boring, I think” but Caroline winked at him, like saying, assuring him, that it was half joke and half serious. Marco felt strange anyways; on his group of friends nobody smoked because they were all football players and they considered that it was nocuous for their body and their performance on the field, and if someone decided they wanted to smoke, nobody had a problem, but no one was less or more boring than other. That’s why he found it weird, it got him uncomfortable. “But it’s ok. No problem” she said, and looked at him like she was making her a favour, as if there was a problem and she was being good with him, forgiving him.

“So, do you like football?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

“Umm” she thought about it, even if it wasn’t necessary, while she exhaled the smoke. “Yes. A lot.”

He smiled widely at her sincerity. Weirdly, he wasn’t nervous, but a bit stunned by the unreality of the situation that a couple of hours ago would have been completely unlikely to happen. She continued. “That’s the reason why you called my attention. The way you play, it’s really cool.”

Marco was, again, open-mouthed, practically. If she was about to flatter the way he played on a way that it was obvious she understood about football, he’d be ready to get married. “Oh, yes? Why?”

“Because it got my attention, just that. I mean… your vision of the game, and your definitions almost always end up being really good.”

Marco raised an eyebrow when he heard the “almost”, and she laughed, even if it didn’t sound too natural to the blond. “I’d surely win playing against you, anyways.”

“Oh, do you really think so? We’ll have to find out someday.”

“Of course, you have my word. Em, I’ve got to go. Training must be about to end, your friends are going to claim you” she winked again, and without further to add she directed her whole body to the opposite side he was in. She threw the cigarette on the floor (Marco didn’t know how she could not care at all that they were at school) and started walking.

And Marco stayed there, smiling like an idiot at her memory.

\--

“I think I’m in love. Can I be in love already?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, I think I can.”

“But the reality is that you’re not in love.”

Oh, Mats was so unbearable sometimes. In some moments he didn’t understand how he was his best friend. How did he dare denying the veracity of his love that seemed to shine brighter than every other love at that time? Auba realized that, and Marco saw it while the three entered the car and the smell of something fried impregnated the reduced space. Thank goodness that Marco had come up with that idea, Mats thought while he held the packages with hamburgers and french fries, holding himself back so he didn’t start eating everything. The French interrupted the conversation.

“Mats, we don’t have the right to say a word, because the three of us know how many times we… got too excited about someone new too fast.”

“Oh, thank y…” Marco started to say, until he was interrupted by Auba again.

“You better leave Marco inside his little bubble of hope that’s gonna last until she speaks to her again.”

Mats started to laugh immediately while they started driving the few streets that separated them from the house of the taller, since they were too cold to walk.

“Idiots. It doesn’t matter” he discarded the subject from his mind (he tried). That night would be a night to be with his friends, and there was no place for the discouragement or girls. “Is André coming?”

“He said he would. That he’d invited a friend of his, too.”

“And… are they bringing food?”

“I guess so, Robin.”

And that was enough for Marco, who stopped thinking at that precise moment, the first thing that came to his mind was that André’s friend would be Julian Draxler (yes, he was his friend too), because André had already mentioned something about including his little Julian to the group. He didn’t mind him being there, since he turned out being a cool person.

They arrived at Mats’ house a couple of minutes after, just to see that there was already a car waiting on the door, waiting for them to show up. Mats parked the car and started laughing when he realized who was standing on his door. “Oh my god! It’s been two millenniums since I saw you two, and now you’re appearing all of the sudden? What bring you, the friend instinct?” he said once he got out of the car.

Benni started laughing, while he practically ran to hug him. “The smell of the food brings me, you know.”

“How weird of you, Höwedes” muttered Auba while he greeted him with a short hug, tiny in comparison to the one the blond and the tall had shared.

“Marco brings me” said Erik, laughing. They entered Mats’ house in a different way, with such a fellowship that was only given by those two parts of the group of friends that had started to separate a bit by the circumstances but that every time they reunited again they were the same friends.

“Mats, I didn’t say I had invited them because I thought they weren’t coming, as always” Marco informed him. “The surprise wasn’t bad, though.”

“That’s very wrong” Mats asserted. “They never come when they’re invited and they think they’re special enough to come to my house by surprise!”

“Pff, make him shut up” Benni answered. “But before, Mats, answer me this: is your adorable mother home? I haven’t seen her in a long time and she must be missing me already” and he winked at them, while watching Mats getting really angry.

The whole conversation was made in simultaneous with another one, between Auba and Erik, and Marco quickly moved to the place where the latter was being because when Mats and Benni were left together they made themselves the owner of all the words, using countless intern jokes that nobody else understands and conversing about subjects that only they were interested in. Marco didn’t know why they barely saw each other once a month, even less.

But Marco didn’t even care anymore: he entered the house as if it was his own, because he was used to feel like that, entered the kitchen and started accommodating the food (and, obviously, the drinks, it couldn’t be missed). He had a lot of expectations for that night, especially because they hadn’t invited everyone and they would just be the group they trusted the most.


	2. Spilled coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So, I have some things to say.  
> First, I don't know where this thing is going. It was meant to be an one-shot, then I felt like I needed one more chapter to write everything I wanted to write, and now, well, I don't know how many chapters I'll need.  
> Then, I have to say that I swear that when I started writing this, I'd planned something. Now I just kind of write what comes to my mind -which is not bad, I think.  
> But I also have to say that this is a story that doesn't mean much. Like, it's just those two idiots falling in love, but it's nothing deep, or at least I don't want too much angst. But that's what I wanted, to distract a bit from all the "serious" stuff.  
> I don't know, I'm enjoying writing this and I hope you enjoy reading it as well!  
> I like to read your opinions so if you liked or if you didn't like it, comment! And kudos are always appreciated.  
> PS: Again, English isn't my first language and as I am practicing it, sorry for any mistakes!

“Has anyone seen Mario?!” his voice sounded more desperate than the way he felt, but if that served him to create the effect he wanted to make, Marco was alright with it. He _was_ , in fact, looking for Mario, he _was_ really hurried to find him and ne _needed_ his presence right there in that moment, but maybe it wasn’t that much for Mats to put that face on.

“No, I haven’t. Why are you looking for him? So you can tell him something before than you’ll tell me because you care less about me? You’re sad as a best friend, you know” the answer of the taller left him frozen where he was (walking through the corridor hurryingly, to a maximum velocity but without running, only walking, searching everywhere for his friend).

“Mats, I don’t have time for your pointless jealousy. Really. You know I am your best friend” Marco sighed and went –now running– to hug him as fast as he could, more than anything so he didn’t react violently to his words. He was understanding the tinge of joke the situation was having but Mats’ angriness, although exaggerated, was real.

“No, no. Get off me and go to hug other friends” Marco rolled his eyes and, without letting go of the dark haired, looked at the person who was standing in front of them: Kevin, who was passing next to them, laughing of the whole situation.

“Are you having couple troubles?” he asked, patting Marco on the back.

“I’d forgotten he was like that when you have other friends.”

“Don’t complain” Mats said suddenly, “I’m worst with little André, now that he has a girlfriend. But, were you going to tell something to Mario, or why were you looking for him?” he was still with the offended attitude, just a little bit more receptive.

“Maybe… but I’d never done it before!” Marco protested, a bit angry by the constant irritated state that his friend was demonstrating lately.

“A year ago you told Erik before me that you’d kissed that girl whose name I can’t remember but she graduated from school” he said, as if it was the world’s most solid argument.

“Are you being serious?” Marco snorted and started searching for Mario, because he was already a bit sick of the conversation that wasn’t a conversation anymore.

“Well, well. Alright. I’m not too upset about you not telling me things before than anyone, but I am worried that you’re getting into weird stuff. Please, tell me it’s something that doesn’t have to do with Caroline” he said, suddenly dead-serious.

“Caroline isn’t weird stuff, and I love her” Mats opened his mouth to talk but Marco was getting really pissed off now. “And don’t tell me she’s manipulating me or something like that because she isn’t doing such a thing, and if she was (something I know she’s not) I would let myself be manipulated by her because she doesn’t do it with bad intentions and I know it.”

“Marco, you can’t be so passive about this!”

_“Hi, handsome. Do you want to come with me after, to go for a walk?” the question was concise and she didn’t let him add a single word to that. Marco was a bit confused, and it really hurt him to say no to her, because her hair was so beautiful that day…_

_“I’ve got training, I don’t think I can. I’m sorry” and he stayed silent for a bit. “Maybe later?” her expression changed, as if no one had ever said no to her._

_“Oh, come on. It’s just a little while. Nothing will happen to you if you ignore football for a little while so you can be with me” she was smiling coquettishly, with a smile that he could not resist, and she knew it._

_He sighed, knowing he’d already lost that battle. After all, no one would say anything if he didn’t go to_ one _training._

**“Yeah, you _can’t_ be manipulated. You’re not like that, you’re not that passive, and I know it very well because you’re my best friend. Or did you stop being it, too?”**

_“Unless you had an accident or someone in your family has a terminal disease, you won’t get out of this easy, idiot!”_

_“Er… okay, handsome. I better be going home” she said, while she turned around and let him alone facing the problem his angry and disappointed friends were._

_That would be the first time she let him alone in two times they saw each other. All his friends, the ones that were there to recriminate him the mistake he’d made, were there, still in sports clothes and all sweaty. And they were looking at him, really angry._

_“Why did you skip training? What were you doing with Caroline?”_

_“Come on, boys, it’s only one training” he tried to defend himself as he could, to ignore them and start walking as if he didn’t know he would not be able to avoid them (and he needed a ride home)._

_“Yes it’s just one training, but you missed it for a girl” said Auba, who was the calmest of all. “For a girl you don’t even know. You’d never done this before!”_

_They were so exaggerated. He knew it very well, and that’s why he decided to ignore them and walk somewhere that was not so hostile. But, of course, he couldn’t go back home on foot._

_…well, yes, he could. There were a lot more options to go to his house, but they all included taking time or paying someone. He didn’t want that._

_“Shut up, it’s my decision” his tone of voice tried to be calm, so they could concede him something._

**“Marco Reus, my best friend, would never leave _any single training_ for a girl he barely knows. I’m sure of it. You did it twice in two months!”**

“Oh, Julian, there you are! Don’t you know where Mario could be?”

Mats shook his head at being ignored on such a childish way and he turned around, stepping away from him with the expression tired, exhausted. Marco tried not to pay him attention because he thought the taller was mixing things, he was getting angry for things that didn’t have anything to do with him.

Julian looked around and pointed at the start of the corridor, where Mario’s figure was starting to appear. “Don’t take too much; we’ve got to do homework.”

Marco smiled at how much he liked Mario’s friend. “Don’t worry, it won’t be too long.”

“Okay” and Marco just couldn’t wait for Mario to reach him: he had to run towards him and pounce on him and bother him in anyway –taking his headphones off, in that case.

“Helloooo! What are you listening to? Can I listen?” Mario didn’t even smile at his hyperactivity, as always. He didn’t seem to be in a good mood.

“No, Marco, stop” he said, his voice tired. He made a sharp movement that surprised the blond and took his earphones off his hand. “I’m on a bad mood for your little jokes. What happens?”

Mario seemed so tired of people (including him) that Marco felt like, literally, someone’d punched or pushed him. He had to take a step backwards and almost crushed a girl whose intention was to walk on the corridor, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t even caring about the fact that he was forgetting to think about what he was going to tell him so excited (something that seemed like a really important thing to happen in his life, something that made his heart beat a little bit faster and made his voice sound weird, and he just couldn’t do anything that isn’t looking at her, and admiring her, and wishing for her to finally, fucking decide what he wanted to do with him), because he was too busy thinking what might’ve happened for Mario to feel that way.

“Mar” he asked him, practically begged him tacitly, to look at him, but Mario kept walking towards the entry of the school.

“If you were going to say something, say it fast, because Julian is waiting for me to go to his house. I’ll help him with his homework.”

Marco couldn’t cope with Mario’s negative attitude anymore, as if they hadn’t spent all the time they could together those last few months. Suddenly, his two best friends were reproaching him stuff or getting angry or got on a bad mood and Marco didn’t have the two people who made his day a bit better (apart from Caroline).

Because he needed them both especially. Almost all his friends had gotten tired of hearing of Caroline since that training episode had occurred.

“It doesn’t matter what I was going to say. Why are you like this?”

Mario sighed and, finally, looked at him in the eyes. His look didn’t tell him anything. “I told you: never mind. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Can I go to your house later and you tell me, or at least you get a bit distracted from that?” he had to say the last raising his voice a little bit, because Mario was already walking away. He mumbled a “if you want to…” that hurt him more than he would admit, but he wasn’t going to let the situation stay like that. He would, obviously, appear in his house later. Even if Mario was bothered by it.

Because he had a weird logic: Marco had a total sense of protection towards Mario, since he found out that the younger was completely in love with him. What he’d considered as a ‘normal’ reaction was Marco feeling uncomfortable next to him, without wanting to talk to him at all but, since literally the first day, he wanted to avoid watching him feel bad, he wanted to do everything as he could to guarantee that no one hurt him. But at the same time, he was in a hurry to tell him things about Caroline, he urged to ask him if he couldn’t talk to Caroline and ask her things such as what she thought about him. They were things that he knew might hurt him, because they reminded him the impossibility of Marco and Mario being together.

He went home. He spent some hours on a state of anxiety, repeating to himself that he couldn’t just go to his house if Mario wasn’t there, because he must still be at Julian’s, but he couldn’t. He just…

He grabbed a coat (the weather had cooled considerably, just as he was expecting) and he got out.

He decided to walk: the time would pass faster. But he just lasted two blocks, more or less, before the hyperactivity got him. He started walking normally, not too fast, but as he walked more his steps were faster. The anxiety was so much that he started running at some point, and in twenty minutes he was at the door of his house.

He doubted before knocking. He doubted before the façade of the house that was already familiar for him, as he’d gone there too many times. He doubted, compensating the sudden impulse he’d had, and as he catch his breath he started to regret.

But it turned out that the luck wanted him to stay, and Mario’s younger brother was arriving at their house just as he was deciding what to do. “Oh, hey, Marco” he said, smiling softly and easily as he entered the key on the door and opened it. “You’re lucky I’m here, because as you must’ve realized there isn’t anyone home.”

“Oh, yes? I’m- lucky” Marco said.

“You’re here to see Mario, I guess. He didn’t say when he would return from wherever he is” he informed. “But you can wait here if you want. If you don’t want to come back to your house” he looked at him, observed the red cheeks and the posture he had, besides from the lack of air. “You look… agitated” he commented, and his tone of voice made him smile, laugh sincerely.

“I- I saw the chance and went for a run” he said when they were inside the house.

“That’s all right. Come in, sit on the couch. If you want, there’s coffee and everything if you want to drink or eat something, make yourself at home. I’m going to take a shower. My little brother will surely be arriving in a while” he said, and as Marco sat where he’d indicated, he retired to his room.

Marco was surprised by how familiar the house had become for him, by all the confidence his little brother had him; and everything in so little time. Only a couple of months had been since they started being friends, and he couldn’t count the amount of times he’d been there.

Sitting there, just watching everything, made him feel more nervous at every second. Every minute he was more unquiet, wanting Mario to never arrive so he could have an excuse to go. He was starting to feel pain on the stomach, besides, so he couldn’t return walking.

It was twenty-five past five when Mario arrived. Marco saw the entry door opening and he wanted to cover his eyes with his hand, without knowing why. He heard Mario screaming to his brother before opening the door completely (“HELLOOOO FELIX I’M HEREE”) and he took a deep breath. Mario closed the door and only when he wanted to throw his coat at the sofa, he saw him. He remained silent for a few seconds, with the face showing completely seriousness, and then he bit his lip, closing his eyes for a second. “Oh” he said, lips barely moving. “I thought you weren’t serious when you said you wanted to come here.”

“Em… do I bother you being here?” Marco asked, suddenly nervous again. “It’s just that- you weren’t okay today and I didn’t want you to be like that, that’s why-“

“All right, all right, blondie. I understand. And I apologise for treating you like that today. You’ll certainly find funny the reason why I was like that, but it really bugged me today.”

Marco smiled. Mario smiled. The shorter sat next to him on the couch, and nothing was wrong, they were best friends, he had almost forgotten about it. It had just been a slight misunderstood. “Let’s see, Sunny. Tell me. Why were you like that today, at midday?”

“But you don’t have to laugh!”

“Okay. I won’t laugh.”

“Swear it.”

“I swear, I won’t laugh.”

“Well. How do I explain it to you” Mario was smiling, but it was that type of smile some people came up with when they don’t know what gesture to make. “I’m kinda texting this guy and, well, it turns out that he wasn’t answering today”.

Marco stayed silent for a second, without knowing what to say. He certainly didn’t want to laugh. “Are you texting a guy?” was the only thing he could say. He didn’t know how to take that news.

“Yes. Because, you know, I already told you- I’m gay” it was obvious that it made him uncomfortable to say it to him. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

The blond had a weird sensation by inside, a new sensation, one that he didn’t know how to define. “Yes, I guess there’s nothing else to sa- what’s his name? Who is he? Do I know him?”

“You don’t know him; he’s not from our school.”

“Is he at other school?” asked Marco, really curious.

“No- he’s graduated” said the younger, a bit embarrassed. He didn’t know why.

“How old is he?” Marco raised an eyebrow, trying to relax and sit back on the couch, with crossed arms.

“He’s twenty eight. Oh no, I’m sorry, twenty seven actually. His name is Thomas.”

His attempt of relaxed posture completely fell. His first reaction was unavoidable. “But, is it serious? I mean, have you seen him or something? Do you trust him? Can you tell me that you trust entirely on him?”

“No. I don’t trust entirely on him, not that much. But I did see him in person a couple of times and he’s cute. And a good person.”

“I don’t know. To mess around texting a fifteen year old boy-“

“Stop it, Marco, he’s a good person. And I like talking to him. I might see him tomorrow, or someday soon. Besides, it’s not like you’re a very good example” and he seemed to stop and use the situation to change the –weird– subject. “Speaking of which, did Julian tell me that you wanted to tell me something today, and that Mats made a fuss?”

“Yes, so… Mats is an idiot. And I actually had news” and he smiled, relaxing again. He would have enough time to make Mario acknowledge his situation; for now, the selfishness was winning. “The thing is that today Caro spoke with me for a while, Sunny, and I actually- I actually think that she’s gonna decide.”

“Decide?” or Mario had missed a part of it, or Marco was going a bit crazy. Does Caroline have to decide something? From his perspective, there was nothing left to decide from her side. “To me, she left things clear. She’ll want to be your little friend when it’s convenient for her, and when she doesn’t want any more, she’ll stop talking to you, and then coming back. If you want to accept that it’s okay, good for you, but don’t fool yourself to think she’s deciding anything, Marc” seeing the silence that arrived, he had to add something. “Of course that’s just how I see it. How do you see it?”

“She’s a teenager, like you, she’s your age. I understand that she doesn’t know where to go, and I prefer to be with her ‘till she does.”

He wasn’t realising all the pain that every single word was representing for Mario. He wasn’t thinking about how texting with that guy could be his way to canalize the love he felt for his best friend (a love that, Marco thought, would be gone for now), and he didn’t see that every word he spoke, defending Caroline, was just one more proof of his blindness.

“Yes, but one day she suddenly decides that she doesn’t want you anymore and you’re still behind her, unable to overcome her, unable to think about someone else.”

“But _I can’t_ think about someone else, Sunny. It’s too difficult for me.”

For one instant, time froze. The rest of the planet stopped moving, and only them remained, Mario inclined forward on the couch and breathing heavily, and Marco leaning on the edge of the seat and avoiding his look. “You don’t know how much I understand” the shorter whispered, and the oldest only pretended that he didn’t understand -though it seemed a bit unbelievable.

Felix (thank god for his existence) busted in the room, saving them from that moment. “Hello, little brother. I was showering.”

“Felix!” and Mario got up of the couch and went to hug him. “So, how was school?”

“It was well, I think. It was boring- but we stayed a while playing football after and that saved the day. Did mom and dad say when they would arrive?”

“In, more or less, half an hour, I think. It’s good that you already showered, then” Mario winked at him and he seemed a lot happier then. Marco decided not to ruin the moment, so he –clearly- spoke.

“Do any of you want to play FIFA? It seems to me that Felix does, eh” he added, when he saw the face of the younger of the tree lighten up. Mario smiled at him, and the relief was evident in every single faction. He was prettier when he didn’t worry or suffer.

(He completely avoided thinking that he’d thought that, he ignored it as if it hadn’t been there. But it was. Like also was the sensation that Mario felt bad, he had to vent his feelings with other persons, and it was his fault.)

Marco ended up winning all he played, as expected. Then Mario’s parents arrived, greeted him as if it was something normal to be there with him, and asked if he would stay for dinned. Marco just simply looked at Mario, Mario returned him a look that asked him to stay, please, say yes, and he didn’t need more than a quick call to his house to inform his family that he would be absent that night, and he’d eat at their house.

Mario was smiling at him honestly, sincerely, and for now that made Marco feel a little better with himself.

\--

When he wanted to realize, it would soon be time to have dinner. Felix had gone to his room a while earlier, and both friends had sat on the couch talking, with the television on the background.

“I knew you liked Justin Bieber, you know” said Marco, containing the laugh.

“Liar! You didn’t even imagine it.”

“Yes I did, it _had_ to be him” the blond stated.

“Shut up, Marquinhos, I know the spot where I can tickle you, so don’t bother me.”

“I like him too” and Mario raised an eyebrow, with the incredulity painted on his face. “Well, not that much as you do” and he reclined where he was, relaxed, extending his legs a bit and creating a bit of contact between his left leg and the other one’s right leg, without giving too much importance to the conversation they were having. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, pondering about the same as always, while the younger, carefree, made a way with his eyes from his body to the television, and irreparably back to his body, his face, him- unable to stop looking at him. The blond, finally, spoke, and when he did he didn’t need to open his eyes. “I’m going to tell you something, but you shut up, okay?” he didn’t wait for an answer. “Mats, when he’s not angry and you, always, are my best friends. There’s no one I trust more than I trust you both.”

“Aw” was everything Mario could say, and Marco didn’t know if he was doing good or bad by saying him that, but it was an impulse from the bottom of his heart that couldn’t be avoided. “Thank you, Mar. I trust a lot in you, too. What happened with Mats today?”

“He thinks he can handle everything, and he’s a bit jealous because he thinks I’m replacing him for you or something like that and, besides, the whole Caro thing bothers him. Oh, Sunny, it’ll be okay in a while; tomorrow, I guess. And if not, screw him. He’ll think about it deeply and realize that he’s being stupid.”

“I hope so” Mario said, smiling. He raised his look and saw his parents on the kitchen almost finishing cooking. “Do we set the table?” he proposed.

“Yeah, come on” and Marco got up.

Having dinner at Mario’s house was always funny, no doubt. Between Felix and Mario he couldn’t stop smiling, but if you added to that his parents and food, that moment was incredibly funny. “Mario, how many times are you going to serve? You ate four plates already!”

Mario left the fork on the plate, slowly, as he raised his head. He had a bit of sauce on his upper lip and Mario’s dad started laughing about that. Marco’s best friend was trying to keep a straight, offended face, but it was turning more difficult than he thought. “I’m in the state of growth” he exclaimed, but Mario stayed looking at Marco in the eye while the smile appeared slowly on his face. The blond winked at him and the situation normalized.

They finished dinner and only then Marco started thinking about how he would go back home. Among all that happened, it was already eleven o’clock, and come back walking didn’t seem like an option anymore. Mario’s dad offered to drive him, but he also didn’t consider a good idea to make him go to his house at that hour. “I can drive him home.”

The mother shook his head with that gesture that had a definitive intention: a negative. “Mario, you’re still learning and you’re only fifteen. No.”

Marco leaned on the back of the seat and, to avoid a fight starting, decided to speak. “I can take a taxi. There’s no problem.”

“No, no. We’re not letting you pay a taxi under any circumstance” the mother let clear, and the father nodded to say he agreed with her.

Marco sighed. “But-“

“He can sleep here!” screamed Felix, who had been sent to do the dishes.

Mario’s eyes lightened. It was clearly an idea that hadn’t crossed his mind. “Yes, yes, Marco, it’s a good idea, you sleep here and tomorrow before school we stop on your house and you pick up the things you need. You can shower here and all!” he said, and Marco couldn’t say no to that level of emotion. He started to show a soft smile, shy towards the emotion that Mario was obviously not repressing, and he nodded.

“Yeah, why not? If you don’t mind, I call my mother and tell her I’m staying” he said, and Mario jumped off his seat and hugged him. “All right, all right, too much emotion?”

\--

It was the first time he stayed at Mario’s house. They had a free mattres, luckily, and they set it next to Mario’s bed.

“I’m- I’m going to take a shower, if that’s okay” he said. He had gone for a run earlier, and it wasn’t a good idea to sleep in those clothes.

“Oh, yes. I’ll give you some clothes” Mario hurried and gave him a shirt and a pair of shorts, which he thought would fit him and be comfortable to sleep. Marco thanked him with a wink and went to shower.

The shirt Mario gave him was nice, and it was obvious that it wasn’t his size because it was big even for Marco. The colour was a dark grey, opaque, that convinced him, and it had a couple of drawings, more like white scribbles. He liked it. It was simple, and he supposed it was so basic that no one could dislike it.

He showered, completely distracted by the situation, and when he got out he was very disposed to go to the room, then to bed, and sleep. Well, maybe not sleep. Maybe he wanted to stay talking to Mario until it was very late, and _then_ fall asleep. Oh, yes.

But it turned out that when he reached the door, Mario was talking on the phone, in his room, lying on his bed. He was grinning so enthusiastically that Marco suspected that it was a moment too intimate to be interrupted.

But, now that he thought about it, he was his best friend.

He entered the room, trying not to make too much noise, and sat where he was going to sleep: the mattress next to his bed. When he caught his look, he moved his lips to ask who the person he was talking to was. The younger took his phone off his ear and said, whispering: “Thomas.”

Marco snorted, or made the sound that came out better. “You can tell him I send greetings.”

Mario raised his eyebrows, while they tried to ignore the fact that it’d sounded 110% like he was jealous, and continued with the normal conversation. Marco would have to start controlling himself.

“Er, okay, I’ve got to go now. We continue the chat tomorrow, if you want (…)” that nervous, disguised, at something the other said, didn’t like him at all. “Yes. See you tomorrow” when Mario finally hung up, Marco rolled his eyes because he really couldn’t believe the stupidity. “Don’t make any gesture, I don’t say a word about Caroline. I’m going to make myself some coffee before going to sleep, do you fancy one?”

“Yes, please. I don’t think it’ll help me fall asleep but yes, I still want one” he said, smiling. He’d already went through the suffering of brushing his teeth with his finger, and he would have to do it again if he drank coffee.

“My body is so used to the caffeine that I don’t even feel the effect” Mario said before going to the kitchen.

While Marco waited for him, he started checking his phone (having to stretch a bit on the improvised bed, because the battery had run out and Mario had lend him a charger, but the plug wasn’t too close to him), checking the timeline on twitter and answering trivial conversations on his other social networks. Nothing more than that.

Marco, actually, thinks that’s the reason why it happened. Marco arguments that it was his own subconscious, but it was actually fifty-fifty, with a bit of the fault relaying on Mario.

The blond didn’t raise his eyes from the phone when Mario entered the room with two full cups. The younger didn’t pay attention at whether Marco was holding or not the cup he was handing him. The coffee simply slid off his hand, as if it was his natural course, as if there was no other option, and inevitably spilled over the mattress while Marco cursed and got up as fast as he could so he didn’t burn or moistened Mario’s shirt.

For a second, they both stayer paralyzed in front of what’d happened, a bit open-mouthed, until the older got out to search for something to dry the disaster they’d made. He came back with a lot of napkins and put them over the spiller coffee; he stayed looking at how they absorbed quickly the liquid and looked at Mario frowning. “We turn it around and I sleep here” he simply said. Mario shook his head.

“No. You stay in my bed and I sleep on the couch. You’re not sleeping on a wet, full of coffee, mattress” he said firmly, and when he saw Marco shaking his head he added. “Unless you don’t mind sharing bed, and then, well… but if you don’t want, I can sleep on the couch” he clarified quickly. He had blushed a little, and Marco tried to smile while he decided to have a little mercy.

“All right. So no one sleeps on the couch,” he said, looking at Mario trying to put up a careless expression –failing completely– while the other took a sip of his own coffee, the one that hadn’t spilled “we can share the bed. You’re my best friend, after all.”

“But-“ Mario was doubting. “it doesn’t bother you?”

“I’m not bothered at all” they started cleaning the mattress, although everything they had to do was taking off the napkins and put it somewhere else in the room. Marco, just to make Mario stop doubting, went to bed immediately after; he hadn’t drank coffee after all, but he didn’t care at all because it was already 1 o’clock and he needed to get some sleep, because he was really tired.

Mario seemed nervous. Marco knew why, but he just wanted to ignore it just so everything didn’t get weirder than it already was. Caroline sent him a text, and when he answered him he just disconnected himself from the rest of the world. Until Mario took his shirt off.

“Oh, em, you don’t mind that I sleep without the shirt… I mean, it’s pretty common but maybe you’re bothered about it, but if I use it I’ll sweat a lot and I think that’ll be worse than-“ said, like excusing himself. The oldest didn’t know why he had that obsession with not bothering him, as if he was extremely irritable –which he wasn’t.

“No problem, mate” he said, but his eyes couldn’t help but wander around his torso unconsciously. He didn’t have the muscles too defined but he was definitely thin and it was obvious that he did sports, and went to the gym regularly. He tried to stop looking so he didn’t feel too uncomfortable, but he couldn’t take his eyes from him (especially because Mario wasn’t looking at him at that moment, so he didn’t realize). He’d left the phone on his chest and he was lying on his back, with the head slightly inclined at the left side, the eyes narrowed and the mouth a bit open, like about to fall asleep.

Mario was standing, looking at his own phone. And suddenly there was less from Mario to see, and less of the room, until he could only feel the darkness that the closed eyes gave him and he fell asleep.

\--

He woke up feeling weird, with a feeling of discomfort that was really weird for him. He immediately felt the warmth of a body, and a skin touching his skin, on his arm, on his- there was a strange pressure on his crotch.

Mario’s back.

He would have never, _never_ imagined having a- boner situation while sleeping on the same bed as Mario.

He quickly moved away from the other one, taking off the hand that hugged the waist of the younger rather abruptly, which made the latter react moving and making unconsciously a sound, protesting (or that’s what it seemed for Marco).

He didn’t know ‘till what point the other one was asleep, or if he’d been conscious of everything, but he didn’t want to find out because he wanted so bad to…

He was uncovered. They were both uncovered, and Marco felt hot, he felt an unbearable heat running through his whole body. When he was just waking up he couldn’t clearly feel anything, but now that all the senses woke up, he needed- he needed a cold shower. The back, the shoulder blades and the head of Mario were relaxed, and they looked very sexy and Marco couldn’t believe he was thinking that. He could see the moles, distributed on his back, and he could see _very clearly_ when the lower back finished and started-

He bit his lip and got up as fast as he could, going to the bathroom. He heard a “good morning” said from a very hoarse voice that wasn’t really cooperating, and he had to ignore him.

\--

He felt like he spent ages on the bathroom, but it didn’t serve him to relax. What had been all that? Did his teenager mind really went that wild just by having another body next to his?

But that didn’t made sense. He’d slept next to Mats, to Erik, a lot of times, even with both at the same time on a bed of the same size, but that’d never had happened.

He didn’t want to think about it, but it was the only thing he could think of.

\--

“Hi, did you sleep well?” he had a friendly smile, he didn’t seem ashamed. Clearly he hadn’t found out of what had happened, or he wouldn’t be that relaxed. He still hadn’t put the shirt on and that made him uncomfortable. Mario was already sitting on the table, disposed to eat breakfast, when Marco reunited enough courage to get out of the bathroom. He didn’t have the- physical problem, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything, because Mario spoke to him and at the same time he was shirtless and was eating a toast and Marco was dizzy from all the sensations he was feeling, from how domestic everything seemed. From how much he liked the situation.

“I slept well” he said, smiling to himself for everything Mario didn’t know. He decided to relax; after all, he couldn’t act worried or something like that, because Mario would realize.

He always realized.

Mario raised an eyebrow and pointed to the table. “You can sit. More than that, I recommend you to sit because we’ll be late, if you want to stop by your house.

Marco just nodded a couple of times, feeling stupid by being standing there. “Yes” he could finally say, and sat down. Immediately after that, Felix appeared. “Godd morning!” Marco, said, and the younger answered with a smile and a weak ‘hi’.

“What a face you’ve got” Mario laughed looking at Marco, who (yes, he’d seen himself on a mirror, he was conscious about it) had an unavoidable sleepy face. The blond just shrugged like saying there was nothing to do about it.

\--

For the third time, there wasn’t any answer.

“Good morning. How are you, best friend?” he tried again.

The sound of their classmates was strong, but not that much, Mats had to have heard him from that distance. He hated when he acted offended like that, especially because he’d sat next to him.

“Mats, you idiot, don’t do this to me. It’s not possible that you’re still mad, look at me, I’m already over it and I want us to be friends again. And I want to tell you that it’s bad if you go around throwing kisses at people, unless that kisses are directed towards my person” that comment was made in allusion that before, Marco had seen him saying goodbye to a girl, both going on separated directions, and he threw a kiss and winked at her. That, finally, provoked the other one’s laugh, who shook his head and finally looked at him.

“Why can I never be angry at you?”

“Because you love me” he said, with a grin painted on his face.

“More than Mario, yes. And you love me as well.”

“Maybe.”


End file.
